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Forge
Backstory As Forge stood over the burning trash pit, he wondered which felt better: stabbing his master or watching the body burn with the waste. Tomorrow is the Hardholme lottery, so all the years of torment and abuse needed to be made up for in one night. One scream is all Forge wanted. One scream would let him know Master had suffered. But not once did she yell. When the soul blade pierced Master’s flesh, she stared at Forge in shock before collapsing to the ground, but not a sound. When he tied her limp body to the trash pile and set Master ablaze, still breathing, she gave him nothing. As the flames began to graze her skin, Master’s eyes would open and glare up at Forge as he watched overhead. But never a sound. Forge needed to know Master felt an ounce of the pain she dished out. And he would stare back as she burned, until she gave him that satisfaction. But none came. And Immortals take a long time to burn. Forge couldn’t rest that night. Surrounded by unfamiliar walls in a place he didn’t belong, his stomach churned with a storm of guilt and nerves. As he walked towards the door, Forge snatched the Hardholme lottery ticket off the ground before stepping out into the madness that was the Hardholme Festival. The city of Tul is often a dreary place for common-folk. But today is the day of the Hardholme lottery. Confetti now completely covers the grey, jagged stone streets and yet even more still bursts through city windows. The smell of charred meats and cries of bards fill the air, attacking the senses. And as if the sounds of desperate bards wasn’t enough, the clamoring of townsfolk and children echo throughout the streets as if Tiamat herself were reigning destruction down upon them. Not far out past the city gates, The Center of Science and Magic was no different. People from all over Dravos gathered to see this year’s lottery winners. And the Center was a shining spectacle. One that looked more like a temple than a research facility. A marble staircase led to a black chasm of an entrance way, surrounded by golden spires dazzled with emeralds and amethysts. Its horrendous gaudiness was only shadowed by its pompous inhabitants, or at least Forge thought so. Showing his ticket to the guard, an eruption of cheers rang behind him as he stepped through the gate. Another winner claims their prize, and in a few short hours Forge would be free. Forge drapes himself in a hand-down, eggplant colored cloak and a beige, dotted with black marks, cloth-wrap belt donning bottles of ink. Strapped to his back is a handmade short-sword with a leather belt wrapped around the hilt in place of a handguard. Once the member of waning Kenku flock, Forge was one of two Kenku taken by a Dragonborn Mystic who killed the remaining flock and took the two as slaves. Taken at the age of 4, along with Riesen, Forge maintained the mystic’s home while suffering the scorn and frequent abuse of his master. Each Kenku were kept separate, but each were often made to watch the other’s beatings. Later in life the mystic used Forge’s skills in mimicry to falsify documents and tomes while Riesen assisted the mystic as a squire. One morning Riesen received a particularly rough beating by the Dragonborn. As she screamed at Riesen to stand back up his body lay there limp. Forge was made to strip Riesen of his eggplant cloak, toss him into the trash pit and burn the corpse. The last of his flock, Forge holds that purple cloak dear. The Dragonborn was a member of the Order of the Immortals, training herself in the ways of eternal life. As a mystic she was passionate in the mystic orders and kept tombs of other Order’s teachings around the cabin. Through his forgery, Forge began to mimic the teachings he copied in the Order of the Soul Knife to one day murder his master, and the days before the Hardholme lottery presented him with an opportunity of escape. On The Ship Coming from a life of servitude, Forge would busy himself with household duties and meal preperations. Any downtime between chores would be spent training with his needle-esque shortsword in sparring matches against Buckler. And although Fallynde was a mighty warrior, Forge feared the way she wildly swung her greataxe. Believing that there would be no pity for his tiny blade, or his head. Forge was never a fighter, so he'd lean towards members of the group that could teach him how to use his blade. He would spend most of his nights studying the old tomes he'd taken from his Master's cabin. His focus would be the study in the Order of Soul Knife as he attempts to control the power that allowed him to kill an Immortal. Silent, and hesitant toward interacting with the others, Forge would later grow to enjoy the company of his companions. Although still ever quiet, Forge would study the flock's passions and use his abilities in mimicry to bond with them over their newly shared hobbies. These 5 years would be dedicated to personal growth. Rarely speaking, but trying to be a presence in anyone's time of need. This while attempting to train his body and talents with a Soul Knife for whatever hardships he may face in the new life he created for himself. Quirks Forge's 5 year journey of renewal was about keeping his fears at bay. The anxiety of being controlled again leaves him a bit rebellious when it comes to orders. Forge is also cursed with the quirk of most Kenkus, Mimicry. Although mostly beaten out of him, Forge still finds himself mimic'ing the sounds of his pen brushing against parchment while he writes. Often at a whisper as to keep his shameful habit a secret. He finds the sound calming, much like humming your favorite song. Forge also still finds pleasure in the forgery of tomes and other's crafts. Copying the works of a fine art gives him a strange feeling of comfort. Forge feels connected to the artisan's work he copies, but will explain it away to others as a simple enjoyment of the craft.